


Lady Godiva on Tomorrow (Maybe the Day After)

by bujeetles (Oboeist3)



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Autistic Cavendish, Balthazar Cavendish's Self Esteem Issues, Cockney Cavendish, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Set in early season 2, You heard me, alternate universe dakota is like the worst ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/bujeetles
Summary: Technically, they should not be interacting with the vortex looming over the greater Danville-Swamp City area. It's not their issue anymore. But that didn't really matter, because Cavendish leapt headfirst into danger and dragged Dakota with him.





	Lady Godiva on Tomorrow (Maybe the Day After)

Technically, they should not be interacting with the vortex looming over the greater Danville-Swamp City area, they didn't work for the Bureau anymore, they barely worked for the P.I.G. Yet the moment Cavendish saw people were in danger, well, he'd forgotten about all of it. Their qualifications were moot, their experience mostly irrelevant. He leapt into danger and dragged Dakota with him.

"Cavendish, be careful!" Dakota yelled, barely making himself heard over the howling winds. He was gripping onto a lamp-post, his feet scrabbling against the cracking concrete. Absently, Cavendish curled his fingers around a street sign, though that would hardly help him if things got worse. He was trying to think, to remember how to identify the type of vortex they were dealing with. It certainly wasn't a deadly one, the radius was too big. Yet beyond that, he hadn't a clue. If only he still had their transponder!

"Talk to me, buddy. What are we looking at?" he said, though it come off a touch screechy, at his current volume. The concrete cracked again, twisted metal supports starting to poke through. His own sign had started to bend further up.

"I don't know!" he said, frustrated. "It could be a Wormhole, a Void, a Quantum Overpass."

"What the hell is a Quantum Overpass?!"

"It's in the manual, you dolt!"

"Not in the one I read."

"In any case, I can't figure out how to stop it if I don't know what it is. I'll have to get closer." he said, resolute. Yet before he could even release his grasp from his support, Dakota was there, wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing tight enough that he could feel the bolts - they were anchor type, how peculiar - pressing the ridges of his spine.

" **No!** We don't work for the Bureau anymore, this isn't our job! We should get underground, follow procedure!" There was a certain desperation to his words, a wild-eyed madness in the way he was clutching him.

"Since when do you care about procedure?" he asked, more confused than anything.

"You don't get it. Maybe you can stop this, whatever-it-is. Save the city. But there's no way you can do it without dying. You're almost as accident prone as the kid!"

"I can not be more trouble than an actual Murphy."

"Don't make me watch you die, Cav. Not this time. Not when I can't bring you back." he sobbed, actually sobbed, with tears and the sort of hitching, hysterical laughter that reminded him of funerals. Apparently that was apt. But it didn't change what the implication of his words were.

"You really think that I'm so incompetent, so, so useless that I can't do one of the things a Level 3 time agent is trained to do?"

"That's not what I -"

"It all makes sense now. I've been wondering, why you bothered saving someone like me, over and over again. It wasn't because you cared one iota about me, it was to save your own reputation. It was already an insult, being paired with a three when you're so clearly a one. If you couldn't keep him alive, you must really have fallen. Then, when everything started to go haywire, here I was, an easy target. Didn't think it would backfire on you, would it? That you'd be thrown out with the rest of the rubbish!" he accused, pushing him off and away.

Cavendish didn't bother to listen to past the wind, to his excuses, his protests, his claims of innocence. He ran towards the vortex, dodging debris, his mind frantically searching for the correct detail. So lost was he in his search for answers that he didn't notice the tarp wrapping around his legs. Not until it was too late, till he was hurtling towards the event horizon, tinged with a sickly looking yellow-pink.

'A Wormhole!' he thought triumphantly, before everything went dark.

* * *

The good news, he was right about it being a Wormhole. So, bravo, on that count. The bad news was, he hadn't the faintest idea where it had taken him. His eyelids were too heavy to open, his body felt like it had been pulverized and turnt into jelly, with his bones as the chunks. After stewing in the pain for a few moments, he noticed something moving under him, something wet. A current? Yes, he was floating down...something. Maybe this was what a Wormhole felt like on the inside.

Suddenly, he was falling, down and down and down, and he still couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He crashed, and the pain flared over his entire body like fire. He didn't know how he was still awake, in such agony. He certainly didn't want to be.

"Ugh, look what trash the Time Culvert washed up this time." came a far-away voice, a familiar voice, except he'd never heard so much disdain in it before. Something pointy came into contact with his midsection, hard, and he couldn't help but gasp, his eyes bursting open.

Above him was Dakota, but he looked different. He was wearing a suit, a proper one, with matching gloves and a hat. It was brown with gold accents, paired with a discreet flash of red on the neck. He had on a monocle instead of his usual sunglasses, and there was a walking stick in his hand, which he must have been poked with. His expression, which had started out vaguely neutral, had curled into outright disgust.

"Great. This one's still alive. You deal with it, Derry boy."

"There's another one down 'ere, gov!" said somebody cheerfully. "He's still breathin' and all. Should we fish 'em out?"

" **We** will not be doing anything. You can pull them out if you wanna deal with the paperwork of processing them, instead of throwing them back into the stream and ending their miserable little existences. Anyone stupid enough to fall into a vortex shouldn't be in there in the first place."

"Aww, quit being such a septic tank 'bout it. Look, this one's a spittin' image of ya!" they said, the pout audible even over the 'smack!' of a body onto the ground. A moment later, and the owner of the voice was in front of him, a familiar face, as it ought to be. He saw it in the mirror every morning. Except he couldn't remember the last time he'd grinned so widely, nor wore an outfit so unprofessional. Certainly he'd never had four rods of metal shoved into the cartilage of his ear. His mustache was intact, mercifully enough, but the rest of his hair was an unruly mess.

Other-Cavendish pulled him from the Time Culvert with ease, though not a lick of gentleness, and deposited him next to his previous catch, who remained unconscious. Lucky bastard. Still, somewhere beyond the pain, beyond the ache of his emotions, he was grateful Dakota was alive, that he wasn't alone. Maybe it was knowing that fact that allowed him to fall back into unconsciousness himself.

(Maybe it just the excruciating pain.)

* * *

When Cavendish woke again, he wasn't in hospital, as he might have expected to be, given that he didn't ache anymore. He was just in a room, four walls with wood paneling, a bed under him, a picture frame with a stock photo on the table next to him.

"Day's a Dawnin'!" came a voice from the door, far too chipper. In bounded Other-Cavendish, a cup in hand, his trainers squeaking horribly across the floor. "Brought ya sum Rosy Lee."

"Good morning to you as well." he said, because even though it was unnerving, seeing this version of himself, he couldn't very well be rude. He took the tea, a little more bitter than he usually made it, but probably closer than anyone else could have gotten. "Thank you for the tea."

"What's with the Hobson's Choice? You're all queeny." he asked, looking puzzled. Cavendish blushed under the scrutiny, setting down his now empty cup on the bedside table. It had been such a long time since he'd heard this accent. Even longer since he'd used it himself.

Before he could try to think of an appropriate response, another voice bellowed from the hall.

"If you're done dilly-dallying, there's work to be done!"

"'ere comes Barney Rubble. God, what a prick. Yours don't seem 'alf-bad. Still a tank, course." he said, smirking, and was out the door in the blink of an eye.

Other-Dakota did indeed walk into the room, looking nothing at all like his counterpart. Not because of the attire, but the confidence, the purposive way he moved. The glint in his eyes.

"Looks like this Cavendish brought you some tea. No wonder, he gets real bitchy without it, starts talking that gibberish slang of his. It's best to indulge him." he said, with that same cold dislike from his very first words. He remembered, suddenly, that this version of Dakota had preferred him dead.

"Most gracious of you." he said, carefully measuring his voice, keeping it even. It's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Ah, where are my manners! I didn't introduce myself. Vincent Richard Dakota, Level 1 Time Agent, at your service." He didn't offer a hand, instead giving a slight bow, but there wasn't any charm in it.

"Balthazar Cavendish. My partner and I are currently employed by the Paranormal Investigation Group, though we also worked formerly for the Bureau. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice meeting a Cavendish that doesn't have a lodestone for a brain. Yea, he can do some neat tinkering with time devices and on brute strength he's the apex, but you know. There's a reason he mostly just fishes through the Time Culvert. Most the bodies are dead, by that point." he said, barking out a laugh. It wasn't anything like his Dakota's, too thin, like he didn't usually bother. Fake.

"Not this time, it seems." he remarked, earning a flicker of a scowl before Other-Dakota fixed it into something more presentable.

"Lucky for you guys. Already finished up the annoying part, documentation and sending you through the hospital. The techs are working on finding your universe now. Heaven forbid we endanger the time-stream by keeping you here." he said, lips curling faintly upward.

"Well then, I best find my partner and wait with him." he said, moving to stand. The longer he spent with this Dakota, the less Cavendish liked him. He made his skin crawl, even with his nice suit and his walking stick and his smile, he wasn't right, he wasn't good.

"So eager to get back to your own liability, huh? I get it, he'd probably break something if left unsupervised. Don't worry though, we're keeping an eye on him." This time, Cavendish couldn't stop it. It was one thing to make fun of him, or at least, some version of him. It was quite another to insult Dakota. Only he got to do that.

"Dakota is not a liability." he said, voice like ice. "He and I have our differences, and it's true that he can be immature at times, but he's still my partner. I'm...hardly flawless myself."

"Oh, I see. Cavendishes really don't fall too far from the tree, do they? This Cavendish, he's originally from another timeline. War of 1814. Apparently that version of me, they **got along**. We don't. It's somehow even more pathetic, with you. You're like me, you're the responsible one, the one who thinks about his actions. You should have known better." he sneered, leaning into his space. Despite being the same height, he felt smaller, next to Other-Dakota. He reminded him of the worst parts of his life, the horrible things people had said to him. The things he had told himself.

Cavendish's hands, no, his whole body was shaking. He didn't want to be here, in this room, in this universe. He wanted to find Dakota and beg his forgiveness, because he'd met the version of him that would do all that he'd accused him of, and his Dakota was nothing like him, he was real, he was good, he made Cavendish better for being with him.

Instead he sat back down on the bed, his head in his hands, and trembled like a leaf. His breathing came short and sharp, and there were memories trickling through the spaces of his mind, the kind he didn't think about.

_Alcohol and slippery slick playing cards, oil and sweat and the too loud laughter booming_

_Hildegard was laughing at him, because who did he think he was? Asking her out, he was only a_

_bastard, or something worse. At least bastards knew and he_

_didn't know anything. He was slow, he was stupid, he was better with machines than_

_people, because you can't take people apart and figure out how they work, if you try they call you a_

_freak. But freak is better than the other accusation, when they found him playing the piano for the_

_calm and the order, let's break his fingers, after all he's a -_

"Balthazar, 'e's gone. Ya can come back now." It's his own voice, pulling him towards the real world. Four walls, a bed, a stock photo in a picture frame. No sign of Other-Dakota. "I'm sorry. I should've warned ya better." he said, brushing the tears he hadn't noticed he'd cried. Other-Cavendish's smile wasn't quite so cheerful, now.

"He does that to you?" he asked, his voice raspy with the horror. Less than what, a half hour in Other-Dakota's company, had him having flashbacks. What was it like having him constantly picking, finding the sore spots and poking them?

"Kind of. Only reason 'e knows is cause I didn't realize. Came back from the bleedin' mission and everything was different, bett'r mostly, but...'e didn't even know who I was. The love of my life, gone." he said, simple, and sorrowful.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't bother tellin' me that. Tell Vinnie. Tell 'im everythin'."

"Everything?" he asked, alarmed.

"Everythin' worth tellin.'"

"I suppose, if anyone would know, it would be myself. But what about you? Are you really going to stay here with that, with him?"

"Dakota is just a coworker. A pain in the arse, but I don't care what 'e says 'bout me. Wha' Vinnie said? I will never forget."

There's not much one can say, after that.

* * *

Cavendish left the room, got shoved into a tube with his Dakota, and fast as anything, they're back in the early twenty-first century, a little bit dizzy, but otherwise unharmed. There was destruction all along the street still, but not one citizen remarked upon it. Wanton destruction was part of living in this town, and freaking out over every vortex in the sky would get them nowhere.

"Hey man, I didn't get a chance to say anything before, but you don't look so hot." he said, all concern. It's blunt, it's a little bit rude, it's out of nowhere. It's very Dakota. He laughed, long and hard and louder than he had in, years, probably. Dakota stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"Are you sure they fixed you up right in that hospital? You're starting to freak me out, Cav."

"I'll be fine, Dakota. Can you order some food?"

"Ye Olde Pizza?"

"If you'd like."

So Dakota ordered pizza on his phone, and they walked back to an office that wasn't an apartment but acted like one, a place that no one should think of as home, but God help him, he did. He washed his face in the bathroom and then sat down in his chair, elbows on the table, and listened to Dakota babble from his own chair. He was very proficient at it.

"Ok, so as alternate universes go, I'm not sure how to rank it, because I didn't see anything outside the Bureau, which looks exactly the same, but the alternate selves are weirder somehow, because you were wearing casual clothes and speaking in the thickest accent I've ever heard and you, well not you, AU you, kept smiling like a loon. Also I'm like 60% certain that version of me is kinda evil? He was definitely a jerk, which sucks, but I guess we all have to have shitty versions of ourselves out there somewhere, huh?"

"That version of you was certainly evil."

"Did something happen? Do I have to go back and beat myself up? Holy hound dogs, is he why you were crying? If so I gotta go back, I have two honors to defend here."

"He didn't say anything I hadn't heard before."

"That's not really an answer, Cav."

"It doesn't matter. What matters, is, well....I must apologize for my behavior, before. I've been feeling lost, without our old jobs. I don't really think you are so manipulative. It was an expression of self-loathing, to which I am somewhat inclined. Unfortunately."

"Oh um, apology accepted, I guess. I know you didn't mean it, but you were right, I shouldn't have treated you like you didn't know what you were doing. And asking you not to die **is** kind of manipulative."

"Under your circumstances, I think it's an understandable request."

"Still, sorry."

"Accepted. I have a question I'd like to ask you, now."

"Sure, go ahead."

"What did you think of the other me?"

"AU Cavendish, huh? Like I said, it was weird. He looked like you, if you didn't squish your hair under that hat all the time, but he wasn't you. Too smily, and I didn't understand what he was saying, half the time. I think he called me a tank?"

"Septic tank, yank. He was saying you're American, probably in a bit of a disparaging fashion."

"Huh. Wait, you could understand him? How?!"

"I grew up in the East End as well. I had a very similar accent once. He did lay it on a bit thicker than most. I think he finds it amusing to be difficult to understand."

"You're pulling my leg, Cav. There's no way prim and proper you grew up talking like him."

"Wrong ya 're, me golden dove. Was a bit of a two-foot rule, nah Robin Hood at school, but my Joanna was Calvin Klein."

"I have no idea what you just said, that's so awesome! Tell me what it means." he demanded, all eagerness and bright eyes and oh god they were right. They were both right. About telling Vinnie, and about loving him. He'd called him his golden dove, how cliche could he get?!

"It wasn't that impressive." he mumbled, feeling the red climbing up his throat.

"Aw, don't be shy, pleaseee tell me?" he asked, blinking heavily with big ol' puppy dog eyes. Like that was going to work.

"I said that you were wrong, I was a poor student, but I was a great piano player." he said, because apparently he wasn't as immune as he thought. "They were rhyme pairs, it's a crucial part of a Cockney accent.

"Ok, let's see if I can figure this out. Two-foot rule is -"

"Fool."

"Well that was rude."

"No, that's what it means: fool."

"Ah, gotcha. Give me a second to try, on the next one."

"Alright."

"Robin Hood at school. Robin Hood, Robin Hood, good? You weren't any good at school? And then there's Johanna and Calvin Klein. Johanna, Johanna, that doesn't really rhyme with piano."

"Pianna. Non-rhotic."

"I get it now. Bit of a cheat, as far as rhymes go. Calvin Klein must be fine then."

"Yes, or wine. Depends on the context. Congratulations, you have puzzled it out."

"Wait, there was another one, at the beginning. Golden dove, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." he said, stiff and unconvincing.

"All I'm getting is Willy Wonka here."

"Those were golden geese, and they weren't in the book. They were squirrels who binned bad nuts."

"Like pistachios?"

"Walnuts, I believe. They sent her down the garbage chute for being one."

"Lot of murder in Dahl, huh?"

"It's not murder, she didn't die!"

"Attempted murder, then."

"Not so."

"Why's that?"

"In the film, your medium of choice, they signed a liability form."

"You do realize that makes it worse, right? Also, they're minors. Love of candy or not, that's not..." he trailed off, his eyes growing wide. Cavendish grew worried, this wasn't like him to just stop.

"Dakota? Are you alright?"

"Love."

"Pardon?"

"Golden dove is love, isn't it? You called me love. Wrong you are, my love." Cavendish turned a shade of red that was lobster-esqe, flustering, his hands moving in front of him rapidly and without direction.

"You are...I mean it's not wrong but...in the context there's this line...and I am, naturally, quite fond of you...not to say you can't be annoying, a-and persistent, and a pain....yet I find myself better for being in your company...but it doesn't have to mean anything, if you don't want it to." he stammered, and blinked, and looked generally out of his comfort zone. Dakota stood, walked over, and oh God had he really calculated this so poorly he should protect his nose, or maybe the eyes.

"What if I did want it to mean something?" he asked, quiet as a whisper, half bent over Cavendish like a predator catching prey, which he certainly felt like, the rate his heart was beating.

"Dakota, I -"

"Vinnie. You don't get to call me love and keep using my last name." he said, amused. Cavendish could feel each word brushing his ear, his neck. It tickled a little, but it mattered more than he could feel it.

"Vinnie..." he said, and that was new, not bad necessarily, but new. He couldn't think of any more to follow, so it was probably for the best that there was a knock at the door, a teenage voice saying 'Ye Olde Pizza.'

"I got it." Da - Vinnie said, grabbing his wallet from his own desk, and the space between them was a relief and a burden all at once. He felt a little Victorian, thinking that way, but it was true. Vinnie paid and made pleasant conversation and placed the pizza on his own desk, before turning his attention back to Cavendish.

"Two options. 1) We take a break from this intense feelings jam and eat some pizza, regroup later." he offered. Cavendish contemplated.

"The other option?" 

"2) I kiss you right now, and then we eat some pizza and regroup later. The whole Wormhole thing has left me tired, not gonna lie. So, what do you think?"

Cavendish, also tired, exhausted, by the past, present, future tangled up here, and feelings and love and what if's whirring around like a hamster wheel, found himself heading down a path not specified. Namely, he grabbed Vinnie by the front of his tracksuit and kissed him first, though perhaps kissing is putting it tamely. Devouring might be closer.

"That works." Vinnie said when he pulled back for air, half-stunned. Cavendish, pleased with himself, grinned like a lunatic.

Universal remix, probably.

**Author's Note:**

> to those lovely occupants of the east end, i did my best to understand your fascinating and linguistically rich slang/rhyming system but i'm sure i fucked up somewhere so thank you for your patience 
> 
> alternate dakota and cavendish based on this lovely art by yuunov (though all characterization was highjacked by me) https://yuunov.tumblr.com/post/172443017468/i-present-to-you-balthatzar-how-do-you-do-fellow
> 
> much thanks for the TETSA discord folks for encouraging me to write this, you guys are the best! <3


End file.
